Grimoire
by The Chthonic Professor
Summary: January White was a normal teenage boy, living with his normal middle class family, with normal teenage problems. Then, as the world is plunged into Nuclear War, he's whisked away to another reality. What's he to do other than carry out his dreams and become the hero he's always wanted to be? M for language and (maybe) violence.


**_Grimoire_**

 ** _The Chthonic Professor_**

 ** _Summary:_** _January White was a normal teenage boy, living with his normal middle class family, with normal teenage problems. Then, as the world is plunged into Nuclear War, he's whisked away to another reality. What's he to do other than carry out his dreams and become the hero he's always wanted to be?_

 ** _Line Break/Timeskip:_** _Chapter Number (Ex: One, Two, Three, etc.)_

 _One_

 ** _Chapter One - The Grimoire_**

 _One_

The world was coming to an end, and all January could do was laugh. He could see the radioactive cloud of death approach as it rolled over his home. Buildings crumbled. People screamed. January knelt in the middle of the street and laughed.

His mother was dead, he'd watched as the cloud of destruction passed over his district. His father was dead, the first of the bombs had landed in Cleveland, where he'd flown on a business trip.

His siblings were dead, he'd watched their high school get torn apart from his vantage at the top of the hill. His girlfriend was dead, her college was closer to home than his. He'd been headed there to pick her up and walk her to the subway. Everyone he knew was dead… and he was laughing, laughing because he knew that the universe had been after him from the very beginning.

It was the only explanation.

Why else was his mind open to the Blind Eternities? Why else did he vanish into the Aether as the radioactive cloud closed in on where he knelt defeated in the streets of his city?

Why else did he survive, when everyone he'd ever loved and everything he'd ever known was obliterated, destroyed in the aftermath of the beginnings of a Nuclear War?

 _One_

Of course it was a Grimoire.

For the last dozen or so minutes, January had stood in the centre of a meadow staring at the ancient leather tome in his hands, his eyes unseeing. They were focused elsewhere. His mother's eyes, his father's goatee, his girlfriend's laugh. They were vague at first, but the flashing images slowed and morphed into memories.

His sister punching his arm after he made a perverted joke.

Him comforting his crying brother, calming him down and putting him to sleep.

Him and his girlfriend cuddled on her couch, watching Chronicle at midnight.

His mother screaming at him for getting his ears pierced, then calming down and telling him he looked cute with the dual silver studs.

His dad beating him at arm wrestling, and then immediately challenging him to a game of chess and trouncing him, _again_.

… which immediately led to the memory where he'd finally outsmarted his dad and mated him with a pawn. He chuckled.

Maybe it was odd that he'd accepted the fact that they were dead so quickly. Wasn't there supposed to be a denial stage? Either way, they were gone. He knew that. He wasn't stupid. He would miss them, but he'd cherish his memories of them forever, both the good and the bad.

For now, though, if he didn't want to lose himself to sorrow and reminiscing, he needed a distraction.

So, of course it was a Grimoire. Books, or more specifically, reading, had always been his most devastating distraction. His imagination was unparalleled (in his own opinion), and the fuel to his creativity was fiction.

He smirked.

And now… now fiction had become reality. He'd Planeswalked. There was nothing else to say, he'd _planeswalked_. Which meant the Multiverse was real, which meant Magic, and Mana and creatures and sorceries and instants and everything else _had_ to be real. In… some shape or form, at least.

In fact, if planeswalking was real, did that mean a planeswalker had found Earth and created Magic: The Gathering? Why? Were they preparing the people of Earth for… something? By giving them a _card game?_

And if a planeswalker had found Earth… what had it been called? Did they name the plane Earth, after the planet they'd found, or did they rename it something ridiculous?

Huh. Food for thought, but he couldn't dwell on it now. Not when he had a Grimoire sitting in his hands just _waiting_ to be read.

So he squared his shoulders and set his eyes on the black leather-bound book. He'd expected some form of fancy gold writing, or at least a title, but there was nothing. The book was unadorned. Logically speaking, because it was unadorned he shouldn't have known it was a Grimoire, but the Blind Eternities worked in mysterious ways. He fingered the pages from the side; they were thick, ragged and slightly yellowing.

It just had this… ancient, but powerful, feel to it.

Heck yeah.

He took a deep breath, hooked his index beneath the cover… and flicked the book open. He didn't know _what_ , exactly, he'd been expecting, - a bright flash of light, an explosion of power, maybe - but it definitely wasn't _this_.

 _'_ _This'_ was like a kick to the nuts. A really, _really_ hard kick to the nuts.

The page was empty.

He closed the book and opened it again.

 _'_ _Nope, still empty,'_ He thought to himself dryly, rolling his eyes. He stared flicking through the pages, eyes scanning wildly. _'Nope, nope, no, nada, nothing, zippo, what, the, flying-fuck, am-I, supposed-to-do-with-_ ** _an-empty-freaking-BOOK-_** _'_

Oh. This was just _rude_.

His grip tightened on the book, his knuckles going white, the old leather creaking under the strain.

There, on the very last page of the book, was writing.

 ** _Nuclear Holocaust_**

 ** _Mana Cost: 10 - 2/BBBB/WWWW_**

 ** _Sorcery_**

 ** _Nuclear Holocaust destroys all permanents on the field._**

 ** _B/W_** _Radioactive 3 -_ ** _All permanents summoned within three turns after Nuclear Holocaust has been played, are destroyed in three turns._**

Beside the elegant text was a pencil drawing of a mushroom cloud.

His grip tightened even further, to the point where he thought his fingers were going to start punching holes through the pages. Then he relaxed. His grip slackened. He shut the book, his hands falling to his sides, and he sighed.

With a practiced movement, he fished through the pockets of his gunmetal grey skinny jeans until his left hand reemerged with a sleek iPod, a pair of standard Apple Earbuds wrapped around his fingers.

Unraveling the wire he popped the buds into his ears, unlocked his iPod, put on his favourite song, and shoved it back into his pocket.

He started tapping out a beat against his leg with the Grimoire.

 _'_ _Heh,'_ He thought, slowly walking into the early morning fog to _Keep Your Eyes Open,_ By _NEEDTOBREATHE_ , _'At least I still have my music.'_


End file.
